


Trigger

by grayorca15, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Triverse [18]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drama, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca15/pseuds/grayorca15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: AU/Crossover. There’s never just one meaning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 of our midquel series. This is more for worldbuilding and character placement than anything.
> 
> The full-on sequel, _Eclectic_ , will bring in a whole host of new characters, bring back some lesser-seen ones, as well as tie up loose threads in _Trifecta_. And that’s all we’ll say on that, short of spoilers.
> 
> #whocares

In legal terms, this would be considered a gross conflict of interest. As the person providing them shelter and various other amenities, Hank Anderson really should have let himself be interviewed by an uninvolved party. The problem was in that he wasn’t in the mind to agree, and no one else could better tell Dennis what all had happened leading up to the berserk episode.

Unsurprisingly, it had started with a benign-enough chore. And a few anti-android protestors who just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. To hear Anderson tell it, half the park had stood back and watched before a passing patrol broke it up.

Oh, and the Black Forest ham sub he had ordered wound up on the ground, stepped on and smeared into an unsightly mess. Nick had apologized for it at least a dozen times before being sufficiently calmed down.

“Fuck, you know how it is with him. It ain't over until he's forgotten about it, really. So you know, we started walking back, and he started doing his little snifflin’ act, sounding like he was gonna cry…” Trailing off with a sigh, Hank waved his hand in acknowledgement about it, elbows braced on the table in front of him. “I dunno what the hell happened, what it was that made him act like that.” 

Thumbs pressed into the corners of his eyes, Dennis let his professor finish its run through of the sequence of events before giving a small sigh. “Okay.” Letting his hands drop to the table, he sat back in the chair, directly across from his unlikely interviewee. “So from there you made it to the car, and then here. Was he still exhibiting distress when you came into the office?”

“Some, yeah. He was still upset about my lunch and all that shit, actin’ all jumpy, and it was gettin’ to be a bit much, so I just stopped him before we could get in the bullpen, just to tell him to calm down again, that it wasn't that big of a fuckin’ deal.” Seemingly thinking it through again, Hank frowned, leaning back in his own chair. “Huh. It was after I said my piece, I guess, is when he freaked out, just stormed inside. But I didn't say jackshit he hasn't heard a million times before, though, same sorta idea.” 

“I’ll review the station surveillance, Lieutenant.” Doing so wirelessly wasn’t so hard when network adapters lined one’s very cranium. “But what happened after? Did he force you all into the briefing room, or did you relocate there of your own volition?”

“Own volition. At first I think we were all a little fuckin’ stunned when he started throwing things, but after he wouldn't calm down when I started talkin’ to him, we realized it was pretty serious.” Shaking his head, Hank seemed at a loss for words of just what else to make of the prior situation, or how he could explain it, even to Dennis. “We started rounding everybody up into the briefing room real fast, once he started screamin’.” 

_ While Captain Fowler called for backup. Understandable. Better to just get out of harm’s way first than pull a gun. _

Figuring the rest of the incident didn’t involve much more than what he had seen in person, Dennis went for the next step: speculation. “But it’s all so - out of nowhere. The last uplink malfunction any of us experienced, Connor was clear across the city. And yet this happens and there was practically zero feedback.”

Brows furrowing as well, Hank thought that through, before letting out a huff of confusion. “That doesn't make any goddamn sense. I thought that shit only happens when one of you's flipping out, strong emotions and all that. That in there, that was some pretty goddamn strong emotions. So… what was different?” 

Now there was a question for which there was no simple, user-friendly answer. Worrying at his lip, Dennis thought through a few possibilities, only to be sorely disappointed how unelightening they all proved.

“In layman’s terms… it might simply be another kind of trigger, sir. It’s not the influx of data from another android or a reset station or a hack. All of those have the potential to affect all three of us. This didn’t. It was another kind of command, throwing a different kind of switch.”

The uplink malfunctions were at least definable. Those only took time to lapse. This had taken a tactile-based sensor reset.

In trivial terms, if CyberLife thought sticking analytical sensors in their mouths was the means to assess evidence, using a “pat on the head” to calm themselves down wasn’t too outlandish.

“Shit. But then what the hell triggered him?” Hands going up with exasperation at all the questions he had, and the few answers he would probably get, Hank slapped a palm on the table in exasperation. “If it wasn't something that can get to all three of you, what made him tick like that? It was like it wasn't even really him, Dennis. Never seen that type of shit from one of you.” 

If one didn’t count the little spat he had exhibited, when Nick’s fretting became too much to bear, Dennis supposed that counted as a first. Trashing the station bullpen was a step apart from breaking down a door in a glitching attempt to reach a partner in danger.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was something you said?” Shaking his head, Dennis stood up from his chair to pace a few steps. His reflection in the one-way glass did the same, revealing the full extent to how harried they both looked. “And I don’t mean that as hyperbole. If getting roughed up by demonstrators didn’t do it, perhaps you used some verbal command without knowing it?”

“Aw, shit, yeah… I mean, I'm not sure what it was, then, though. Said a lot of stuff, just trying to calm him down. It was when we got to the station though, when he switched, like flickin’ a light switch.” Thinking it through again in a moment of silence, Hank shook his head with more confusion and helplessness. “It was just shit he's heard already, like that he didn't need to be upset, it wasn't gonna kill me or him.” 

No. Anything that killed them would have to try harder than bullets or hypothermia or a combination of the two.

“And that set him off?” Recalling the destruction of the bullpen, now compared to the damage of a few ruined doors, it seemed like an upgraded repeat of recent history. It wasn’t Anderson’s intention, but why would that warrant trashing everything in sight? Nick had heard plenty of phrases he hadn’t liked the sound of before.

“Whatever switch it was, it clearly isn’t anything Connor or I are preset with, either.” Folding his arms, Dennis leaned sideways, bracing a shoulder on the glass. “At least… nothing we’re cognizant of.”

“Oh… you mean the phrases you can't understand, eh? You don't understand the idioms and metaphors, all that shit.” Almost seeming to perk up at the mention of that, Hank drummed his fingers on the table before speaking again. “I guess I did say one of those, he sorta seemed to get them more than the two of you did. Like… what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Ever heard that one, Dennis?” 

“Now I have, and I don’t think it’s so much that we can’t understand them, sir. We just don’t always grasp why they’re used at a given time.”

“Well, you get why I would use that one, in this situation? A little heckling from the locals wasn't gonna kill us, no need to cry about it. Somethin’ tells me the meaning itself wouldn't have set him off, though. He's heard it a million times before, just with different words.” 

So it was a specific sequence, and not for rhetorical purposes. There was some use to be had in installing such a routine. And, like any mishandled weapon, if one didn’t know to use it, the result could be dangerous.

“There was no delay? Just - an instant switchover?”

Interrupting any answer Anderson might have had ready, the interrogation room door beeped forebodingly and slid open. Dennis straightened up to stand at attention before Jeffrey Fowler could notice him looking so lax.

_ Oh, right. Sorry about the mess my ‘little brother’ made of your workplace, too. _

“Now where do I start?” Storming over to the side of the table, Captain Fowler did one better, tossing a tablet down in front of Hank. “The property damages bill, or the would-be criminal charges?”

Looking down at the tablet for a moment, Hank looked up at Fowler with one eyebrow raised, but at least had the understanding to not make a sarcastic remark, or any of the likes. “Kid wasn't in his right mind, Captain. I ain't sayin’ he didn't cause a shitload of damage, but it sounds like he had some sorta trigger for it.” 

“What it sounds like isn’t the same as what it  _ is _ , Hank. Until the techs go over him and get us a complete workup, fact is we know fuck nothin’.” Swiping the badge-emblazoned window aside, Fowler pointed to another cluster of paragraphs, with thumbnails of still images attached. “Do these before-and-afters look like any joke to you? You’re lucky no one got so much as a glass sliver.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Dennis couldn’t help an anxious glance toward the door. As much as he liked to think he was doing the professional thing, interviewing Lieutenant Anderson first, the uncomfortable fact was they were both more accessories to this madness than they were witnesses.

Pros and cons of living under the same roof and all.

“I never said this wasn't serious, Fowler, just tellin’ you what it could be. This ain't the sorta thing he would just do, all right?” Hank said, grimacing at the pictures all the same. Outside really did look like a tornado had come through and wrecked everything, while also leaving nice fist-sized dents on some surfaces. “I know we're lucky no one got hurt.” 

“Maybe not. But this is the same model you had with you on the Zlatko case? Had some kind of fit down in the basement?”

_ Yes. And after the recommended service appointment back at CyberLife, he was declared fit for duty. What are you getting at? _

Some of the unspoken question must have leeched into his expression. Fowler took one glance at Dennis and growled again: “Don’t get cross, you. CyberLife may have been in the business of giving you three an infinite number of chances, but those days are over.”

“He didn't try and hurt anyone or destroy anythin’ down there… other than himself.” Admitting to that after a beat, Hank shrugged, nothing else he could really say to try and defend them. “He was fine, afterwards. It was some sorta trigger for him down there, and the same for this, most likely.” 

“And thankfully one of his partners was reachable, on both occasions.” Gesturing to the android in question, Fowler swiped a finger across the tablet again. The letterhead of a digitalized newspaper slid into view. “But you see this, the housing situation - New Jericho has barely gotten enough footing to get property development underway. They don’t need this kind of bad press, given the proximity.”

_ And I’m sure Nick was thinking all about that when this switchover snatched every motor control out from under him. _ Hands clenching, Dennis picked a node on the palmprint pad to stare at.

Markus would be hearing of this soon enough, too. Just as well, he was out of the city today, attending various political events in Lansing. He was tireless in his want to put the good word out for all android kind.

And now here they were, unintentionally mucking it all up. By no means were they the only ones of their kind who ever erred, but being relatively high-profile came with that cost. They had accompanied Markus to enough meetings and conferences to have their pictures and names taken note of.

“I mean, course they don't, but what can we do? Press has already heard of this, can't just say it didn't happen.” One hand going up, Hank waved it around with his words, before settling it back down on the table with a jolt. “They know who he is. There's not much  _ to  _ do, in regards to that, Fowler. Unless you're proposin’ something?” 

“Yeah. The repair bill wasn’t a joke. Rough estimate puts us at five-hundred and climbing. You know those light fixtures aren’t cheap.”

Hence why they were typically hung so high above everyone’s heads. Dennis remembered at least one or two dangling, knocked off their wires, and the bulbs of the others shattered by makeshift projectiles. And those were only some of the fixtures of the bullpen that would need replacing.

“And the press will hear about that, too,” he ventured, cautiously, as Fowler turned a glare on him. “I mean, it’s hardly fair to take it out of anyone’s wages, Captain. You ought to try CyberLife first.”

Now there was a whole other can of worms. The state of the company responsible for manufacturing most every other android that ever walked - how many tens of millions would they be set to lose in court, never mind commercially?

Even if they were eventually barred from making more autonomous help, who knew better how to fabricate biocomponents and synthesize blue blood? They would lose only so much in future sales, once their business model had been readjusted, and androids were paid fair wage.

In the meantime, billing them for Central’s damages, as caused by one of their wayward prototypes, didn’t seem too unreasonable.

“Yeah, well, optionable as that might be, Dennis, I’d feel better about making that call once the technicians have had time to diagnose your partner. And before you say anything, Hank, no, they aren’t company-issue or our own. I’ve put word out to a few independent agencies who wouldn’t mind getting a peep at genuine RK tech.”

Right. Because without money involved, only so many human techs would take such a job as a charity case.

“And when is that happenin’? He's bein’ kept in the holding cell until then?” Countering with his own questions, Hank at least managed to not sound too defensive, or at least as much as what could be expected. “Listen, I get the bill and all, we'll work that shit out, it'll get paid. I'm just wonderin’ what's going on with the rest of this mess.” 

“Then I suggest you get back to your desk to wrangle calls like everyone else is. It’s out of your hands for now. Let us worry about damage control. Dennis can keep tabs on the exam if you’re so concerned.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, lest he say something rash, Dennis nodded. “I’ll keep video of it for later, sir. A holding cell is the safest place Nick can be right now.”

For all considered, that is.

“Sure. Guess that's the best we can hope for, eh?” Standing up from the table, Hank raised an eyebrow at Dennis and nodded at him. “You keep that video, then. We'll get back to work now, right?” 

It was just what Fowler wanted to hear, by the way he waved them out of interrogation and back toward the bullpen.

Dennis stopped short only at hearing a few loud taps against the glass of the holding cell, and glanced over accordingly.

Standing up next to the glass, slightly hunched over and looking extremely apologetic, a few degrees away from some tears, Nick had his hands splayed out in front of him, looking straight at them. Evidently having figured out a way to use the technology he had to the best of his ability, the now back-to-normal android had a holographic message scrawled out above his fingers. 

_ I'm sorry _

_ and I still love you  _

Shuffling a bit closer, almost up against the glass barrier, he had just the appropriate meek puppy dog expression to go along with the message. 

Seeing it as well, Hank let out a scoff, exasperated and a bit affectionate. “Aw, fuck. Now that's more like him.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faceclaims:  
> Olivia Maitkin... Kate Siegel (The Haunting of Hill House)  
> Detective Andrew Houston... Andre Holland (Castle Rock)
> 
> And the world needs more Lucy. Less of Joss.

Contrary to popular belief, androids weren’t always induced and put into stasis for complete-system diagnostics. Most times the afflictions being investigated were directly tied to one’s processes as it normally functioned. There wasn’t as much to see when half those systems were disabled out of concern for safety. No technician wanted to turn a screw only to get punched in the mouth for it.

Going by her ragtag attire and disheveled, tied-back ponytail with braids to match, the so-called technician who was quickest to report to Central somehow got an all-clear from Captain Fowler. Escorted past the bullpen by Officer Wilson, she took one look at the damage and wordlessly pulled on a pair of gloves. Introductions seemed like a forgone conclusion.

Running a quick face-recog scan, Dennis almost balked. Then he checked the impulse by running a background check.

A second later, he understood why this one was the best choice. She wasn’t keen to learn something new. She wasn’t looking to dig up industrial secrets. And, best of all, she wasn’t looking for money.

Olivia Maitkin, after working some six years for CyberLife right out of college, had unceremoniously resigned on May 7th, 2038. Here they were in the middle of December, and she had rebranded as an on-call repair service. Most who found her number probably cared less about her reasons for quitting CyberLife than they cared she didn’t charge exponentially for consultations or biocomponent replacements.

Upon rethinking it, Dennis felt even better, enough so to share the knowledge with Lieutenant Anderson. So long as they were told to sit at their desks and to not interfere, no one said they couldn’t converse between themselves.

“She’s a good one, sir. We didn’t work together except on a handful of occasions, but there wasn’t a better tech in all R&D.”

The third, most comforting fact went unspoken: if he knew Olly, so did Nick. That wasn’t a complete stranger about to walk in and run the tests. They would have been in for more dramatics if it were.

“Oh, yeah?” Leaning back in his own chair, Hank followed her with his eyes as long as he could, before giving a sigh and turning back towards Dennis. “If you were someone else I'd say that was bullshit, but somethin’ tells me you aren’t lyin’. Least, she don't look like anyone who's gonna mess around.”

Meaning, if her fashion sense was at least a few rungs above the eccentric designs Anderson’s shirts had become known for, it was a vote of confidence worth heeding.

Trying not to seem so earnest, and therefore unbelievable, Dennis tried for a self-deprecating smirk. “We’ll know she needs help if I hear any whining, in other words.”

The best techs always could put their subjects at ease with naught but a few words. And this one knew when to dial back the clinicalness in favor of jokes. Bemused machines were easier to handle than stressed, erratic ones. Anyone who could talk Nick into staying quiet was best suited to poking around his wires and codes.

In theory.

——-

Not for the first time today, Connor felt like he should be in Lansing. Markus had done well to appoint a second, general contingency of guards, comprised of former militant and law enforcement models. With no less than four of them, and Josh, as a security blanket, there wasn’t much they couldn’t handle. Leaving the city at an early hour, they had managed to skirt by any nosy press barricades in the process.

On the other hand, now there was a throng of reporters loitering outside of Central - just waiting to get their hooks in anyone who happened by.

Pulling the headband low over his brow and ears (effectively hiding his LED in the process), Connor readjusted his heavier winter coat and turned the collar up to conceal his face. The taxi door slid shut behind him and the cab beeped as it melded back into the traffic.

It was the best disguise he could do on short notice. That and using public transportation, courtesy of the small expenses allowance Hank has impressed on all three of them, seemed like the way to go.

Unfortunately, Channel 16’s hovering vidcams were the equivalent of overpowered mosquitoes. With limited processing powers of their own, they knew just when a subject was being evasive, and what angle to flit toward to get the best footage.

Spinning around in place, the lens of one quirked like an eyelid, dialating out then in as it refocused on the android. Even worse, the trenchcoat-wearing man commanding this particular gnat was an ‘old friend’ of sorts.

Joss Douglass. Between the scene of Carlos Ortiz’s murder and now, he seemingly hadn’t lost a step, or a story, since. Rain, shine, or snow, he was always there, at the tail end of whatever newsworthy action needed documenting.

“You’re sure?” Speaking into his earpiece, the reporter at least hesitated before turning on his heel, chancing a look around before trying to approach.

Hands in his pockets, Connor turned his face away to scowl into his collar.

Terrific. With one press buzzard after him, the rest would soon follow.

Avoiding the mic before it could be shoved in his face, he tried to step around before he could be stopped. “Excuse me, Mr. Douglass, I have - places to be.”

Or _a_ place, if one was being specific, which reporters often were.

“But can you clarify what exactly happened here, Connor? Is it true that an RK800 from your series went on a rampage?”

Now there were a pair of questions he would rather not answer, informed or otherwise. But as Douglass was mindful enough to keep his voice down, to not bait the rest of his competition into a newborn mob, there was yet room to be polite.

Forcibly, Connor forced himself to momentarily halt and meet the man’s eye, even as the vidcam wheeled around and zoomed in. “As I cannot confirm anything, standing out here, I can’t yet tell you what is true or false, either.”

Ignoring the fact that series may as well be the same terminology as ethnicity or family, that was tantamount to accusing Markus of having any relation to their model without knowing it. But then, therein lay the wisdom of keeping said messiah’s pedigree a secret. No one needed to know what Markus was to understand who he was.

If all he was doing was in the name of noble ideals like justice and compassion, what difference did knowing his series make?

Turbines whirring, the vidcam seemed to glance between them, it’s beady red recording light still visible.

“The department will be releasing an official statement when it’s ready. Until they do, I can’t give you an opinion on what I did not witness.”

Piece said, however standard and uncreative it might have sounded, Connor tried to step around.

_Beep!_

Darting like an ornery wasp, the vidcam swiveled around to hover over his shoulder.

“But you know what happened, right?” Continuing to question him, even with two answers that were both clearly indications that he wasn't gonna he talking, Joss took his own step to match his, leaving them right back where they had been.

Worse still, two mic-wielders at the barricade turned and spotted them. A quick scan revealed they were the same ilk as Douglass - feelers for KNC and CTNtv. It wouldn’t be long before they, too, saw just who had arrived on the scene

“I only know what I was told. What happened is another matter entirely.”

“Then, what were you told?” Having one line of communication shut down, Joss immediately hopped to the next, perhaps knowing that there would be precious little time until others began to rush over the way he had.

The drone pivoted as if to glance at them for itself before swiveling back around.

Connor scowled at it, unseen as the expression behind his collar was. Just as unseen was the red flash beneath his headband.

With a confused-sounding warble, the vidcam pitched sideways, abruptly losing focus and altitude as its minor motor program was hacked. Breaking into its CPU was as simple as smashing an egg with a mallet.

Ignoring the stammer of alarm from its operator, he stuck out a hand to catch the camera drone before it could fall out of the air. It landed in his palm like a discarded Frisbee.

Seeing for themselves, the other reporters held back. Their hovering drones held off to match.

“Nothing I’m yet ready to share. Do you understand, Mr. Douglass?”

Mouth dropping open as he looked at the now-disabled camera, Joss shut it as he trailed back up to Connor, eyes wide, taking a step out of his way as he did so. The mic lowered to match. “Uh - yes, yes.”

“And I would say that's your cue to find your way inside, Connor.” A voice suddenly spoke up behind the android, close enough that it was evident they had snuck their way through the crowd of pedestrians to find him, specifically.

Neatly setting aside any urge to flinch, Connor handed the drone over to its owner. Somehow managing to grab it and hang onto his microphone in the same moment, Douglass shuffled out of their way.

Without turning around, a voiceprint comparison told him who had turned up, and an overlay depicted the man as he was once photographed in dress uniform. A transfer from Detroit’s 5th Precinct wasn’t much in the way of remarkable news, but rumors of Chris Miller’s intended other half had been circling the station for a week.

Now here he was.

“Nice of you to join us, Detective Houston.”

Evidently shuffling a bit closer, a hand settled lightly on his shoulder for a moment, as if to grab his attention some more, before removing itself without having to be asked. “Thanks for the welcome. I was sent to make sure you could find your way through this crowd well enough… we should be able to shoulder our way in, now that the press won't accost you.”

_I’ve dealt with worse._

The barricade, manned as it was by a few patrolmen, parted long enough to let them by. Among the four of them, not one of the bodies guarding the steps was an android. Strange as that once might have seemed, the new norm was to let human-predominant jobs defer to the humans lately.

And here they were because one of the few androids still allowed within a mile of a police station bullpen had short circuited.

It was nothing short of ironic.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, Connor finally spared Andrew Houston an assessing look. “I appreciate the backup, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle on my own.”

Not looking uncomfortable under the look or the words, Detective Houston shrugged at him, before tipping his head towards the doors. “I'm sure you could've, but it wasn't me coming out to rescue you of my own volition, actually. She told me to come make sure you would find your way inside… or, at least, I think that's what she meant. It was sort of vague.”

“She…?” Casting a glance at the closed, opaque-set doors, Connor shook his head, reaching up to pull the collar down from his face. “One of the secretaries?”

That was odd. Why would one of the STs think it necessary?

Unless the orders were handed down from Captain Fowler, it seemed a strange move for any other person to consider.

“Uh… I don't think she was a secretary. I mean, no disrespect, but she seemed kind of…” Trying to clarify what he was saying, Andrew gestured to his own face before nodding back to the doors, and whoever was behind them. “Her face is sort of - broken, I guess, or glitching. Eyes are a solid black. And the back of her head is all open. Besides that, looks perfectly normal. I don’t know, I wasn't gonna argue with her when she told me to go get you.”

Now there was only one android who met that description, and she was distinct in the fact she was in such a state, while still up and walking around. Most of their kind weren’t so fortunate. Even if they were, fewer than that could probably cope with living in such a state than Lucy could.

Her background was no easily-accessible printout in a database somewhere. And rather than fear or mistrust her for it, or the sometimes-spooky scope of her precognitive ability, the majority of New Jericho afforded her with a kind of reverence, above and beyond casual respect.

Detective Houston was already in that aforementioned camp.

Connor, on the other hand, only knew Lucy through reputation, and one chance encounter by him in a past life, so to speak.

_(You’re lost, you’re looking for something… you’re looking for yourself.)_

What the KL900 was doing in the lobby of Central Station - it was anything but coincidence.

Pulling the collar the rest of the way down, Connor stopped to peel off the headband, taking one nitpicky swipe at his hair before stepping over the threshold. Maybe he could only pretend indifference to her company for so long, but he could at least take pains to look better in her presence.

Not that Lucy was one to judge, but there was a reason she had been appointed as New Jericho’s Primary Empath, or NJPE. The first title in a series of acronyms denoting rank and file, only so many could ever hold it. Lucy was indisputably the only immediate candidate.

Even if her new, golden-toned unitard, complete with a holographic necklace and bracelets of interlinked hexagons, made her seem too regal, the nature of her ‘broken’ appearance took the edge off.

Taking one prolonged look at her, Connor almost dropped his gaze before remembering there was no need to feel submissive. This wasn’t Amanda, but the social parallels struck him nevertheless.

He kept his shock reigned in to a tight nod. “Hello, Lucy.”

“Hello, Connor.” Smiling at him, Lucy took a step forward, as if she were welcoming/permitting him into the station herself. Her hand reached out, settling gently onto one of his arms, before speaking again. “You are better now, partly. In your mind.”

She said it as if it wasn't even a question, that she could simply tell what was going right for him and what was going wrong. Which, of course - she could. There was no sense in denying it. Her very aura was enough to set his sensors on edge with some undefinable rippling effect that was neither invasive or unpleasant.

The least he could do was agree.

“Yes, thank you. I… things are, in general. Better, I mean.” Fidgeting with the knot of his tie for just a moment, he rethought the reasons she might be here, and the biggest immediate one was no real shock. He shouldn’t act so flustered. “Uhm. You’re here to see Nick?”

Removing her hand, Lucy's smile turned into a more serious expression, nodding once at his correct analysis. “Yes. That is not him, who would act like that. I've come to see for myself what made him do such a thing.”

Naturally, with the lightspeed at which news travelled these days, of course she would be here. Even if it wasn’t on orders from above, she would have turned up not long after. Her model was predisposed to handling cases of trauma in humans. It wasn’t a far leap to apply the same skill set to her own kind.

Glimpsing how Detective Houston still loitered nearby, ready to walk them inside, Connor saw even less of a reason to deny them. All opinions were welcome on this case.

Then they might put to rest some of his own confusion in the process.

“Whatever insight you might have, it’d be appreciated.”

“I will need to speak to him, first.” Turning back towards the security gate with an air of finality, she seemed to wait for either Connor or Detective Houston to lead the way, even if she probably already knew just where to go to find Nick. “The human technician will be done soon. I'll go in after. He'll need it.”

Nothing she said ever seemed falsified. That was the unnerving part.

——-

_“Set-settle down! Honestly, you act like we’ve never done this before. …Please, stop squirming.”_

Knowing if he watched, somehow, someway, Dennis would attribute to the nervous energy already permeating the holding cell. For the moment, he had elected to oversee the exam, while Maitkin and Anderson handled the actual work. It might have been the inverse of what anyone expected, but there was a logic behind it. Nick knew both of the people trying to help him, in this case.

Why was there reason to be difficult?

Because that was what he did, by default.

Doing the opposite of what he was asked to do, Nick let out a whine, trying to escape any hands that had a hold on him, and those that were trying to connect, turning and ducking around the best he could to avoid the two of them. “ _No - no, don't, I - please, don't, I don't like it!”_

Guarding the door from inside, ensuring no funny business with the access panel, Hank did his part in trying to reassure the patient: _“She’s only gonna take a look, kid. No power tools or nothin’. Come on, you know she wouldn’t hurt you.”_

Dennis rolled his eyes toward the ceiling at hearing (big surprise) another whimper.

“ _No, no, but I don't like it! Don't do it, please, I don't want to, don't!”_ Trying to back himself into a corner so he couldn't be grabbed, Nick skittishly turned in a half circle, shuffling back up against the back wall as best he could to avoid her. “ _It's too - scary, stop it!”_

A sigh from Hank emanated over the speaker. _“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe he isn’t as over it as we thought?”_

Olly scoffed. There was a clatter as she presumably tossed an instrument back into her toolcase. _“I was hoping he was. But I’m not about to risk a broken anything over this.”_

Standing idle, keeping any curious coworkers from interrupting, Dennis was pleasantly surprised to see the first few to try were comprised of other familiar faces. Detective Houston stuck his head around the hallway corner, smiling a disarming smile.

“Permission to approach, Den?”

“That depends. Did you bring reinforcements?”

Wheeling around the corner, Andrew stood aside to let Lucy and Connor walk by. “All two of them. But they’re just the ones you need.”

Focusing her orb-like gaze onto him, Lucy smiled slightly, trailing closer, but not reaching out to touch him, instead seeming to respect whatever stress and nervous energy he had as a request to not, at least at the moment.

“Dennis. The human technician has retreated by now, yes?”

He didn’t waste the energy on pulling an expression besides a weary frown. The empath’s reputation preceded her, and when word went out there was a problem at Central involving a certain RK, Houston had been right out the door to retrieve her. So here they were.

The rest she could predetermine for herself.

“Give me a minute, please.” Sidling over to the intercom, he pressed the panel with one palm. “Lieutenant? Permission to enter?”

Looking back at him, and also past him to who else was there, Hank raised an eyebrow before giving a sigh and nodding, taking a step away from the door. “ _Yeah, it'll be fine. He's got himself all goddamn twisted around so he can't be grabbed, but he ain't gonna do anything worse than that.”_

It was looking a trifle crowded in there. Nevertheless, reading the panic on Nick’s face, and the spiked stress level, Dennis opened a comm the same as he did the door.

_Relax, Nick. No one’s gonna hurt you. Your little fit even got Lucy’s attention. Think you can settle down enough for her to take a look?_

_I - yes, I just don't want her prying at my head!_ Shooting Maitkin a frightened look, Nick at least peeled himself off the wall, arms crossed in front of him for some kind of defensive comfort.

_Olly wouldn’t do that if you said no, remember? No tools until you’re ready. Lucy can help with that._

Peering around the open door, Connor made one brief scan of the scene as-is and raised an eyebrow. The freshest sets of gouges across the cell must have caught his attention, and the hidden hands of his distraught partner added up to a worrisome conclusion. _You’ve been clawing the walls?_

 _Just - I can't bite my nails -_ Cutting himself off with a whine, Nick crossed his arms tighter, slightly doubling over with the anxiety and stress of the new situation he was in. _I can't do this, I don't want her to look, but I can't - it helps._

Indecisive as ever. That much was perfectly normal.

Then again, one’s idea of normal did vary from person to person, not unlike the definition of alive.

_Lucy won’t do anything like that. And the sooner you let her look, the sooner we can let you out of there. Understand?_

_…Yes, I - understand…_ Trailing off, Nick took a hesitant step away from the wall, so that he wasn't so confined and hard to get to. Taking a glance back, he nodded his agreement in letting others in. _Okay, okay, Lucy can come in…_

They weren’t going to get any more certain of a yes than that. And worse came to worst, Hank wasn’t without his nine milimeter. It had enough stopping power in one bullet to defuse any more chaos that might ensue.

Thankfully with Lucy on the scene, chaos was soon to be the furthest thing from anyone’s minds.

Without needing to be told, she entered the cell. Nick's eyes flickered to her, before giving another skittering look around the room. His hand wandered back to the wall for a moment, seeking some sort of reassurance that it was there.

Stepping around Dennis, Lucy gave him a reassuring smile, one hand held out, half to show he meant no harm and half to invite him to reach for it. “Hello, Nick. I am going to help you, now. Will you let me?”

Grimacing at the offered hand, Nick at the very least didn't attempt to get away from her, or bat her hand away, just stood frozen where he was.

_It isn’t a trick, we promise. …Not like the time you put flour in Hank’s coffee, remember?_

Now there was a comfortable memory to cite. Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t one to take his morning refreshments with any additives. To do so was to be called a ‘sissy’, in his mind. But in an attempt to brighten his mood after a rough night, a certain someone had tried to sweeten an offering.

If only they hadn’t confused flour with powdered sugar, it might have worked. Dennis has quickly suggested reframing it as a prank at the disgusted look that crossed Hank’s face. What hadn’t been intended as a trick was better off labeled as such.

Not that anyone besides the four of them would ever know. But keeping Hank’s favor was key to keeping a roof over their heads.

Just like now, only giving Nick reasons to stay calm was vital to keeping everyone safe - even if they didn’t know from what.

Yet.

_Like… like that, but no tricks, okay. I trust you._

Nodding his head, albeit a bit warily, Nick offered his own hand after a moment. “Okay. Yes. You can help.”

That was the hope, anyway.


End file.
